Forever Hold Your Peace
by mCat2
Summary: Hermione is about to make the most grevious error of her life, and only Snape is a big enough ass to tell her honestly. HG/SS. R&R, s'il vous plait. *UPDATED FINALLY*
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, but I do own the bloody storyline. JK Rowling and co. own this, so I'm blatantly borrowing.   
  
  
  
Granger sat there, mightily uncomfortable in the stiffly corsetted dress. She sighed, her hands roaming for the thousandth time over the perfectly smooth material of the white dress, and moving upwards to tug uselessly on the veil obscuring her face. She sighed slightly, and breathed in again, causing some of the gauze to fly into the small parting of her lips. The dry fabric created an uneasy tension with the soft surrounding flesh; as well as looking demurely suggestive. No one, not even a child, could have failed to recognize the almost unholy dent made by her mouth, in the otherwise all-material-encompassed woman.   
  
She felt like a lovely thing, an object to be admirably manhandled, then placed down again and moved on. It was not a particularily comforting feeling, and even less so because it was true. She lifted the veil with gloved hands, and admired her shortlived beauty. Of course, magic was involved in making up so previously plain a woman, but she had to admit her most basic of looks wasn't terribly unattractive either. The freckles and sunspots that marred her otherwise flawless complexion were temporarily removed, and her teeth were now impeccable in size and color, partially in thanks to Draco Malfoy. Even her eyes were tinted gold, making the light brown an interesting mix of autumnal red. The lips were plainly lip-sticked an earthy shade, but even so, they were alluringly full. She was satisfied, she supposed, even though Damien's reaction was more than adequate. She stifled a laugh at his uncomfortably restraing trousers, and the way precarious way he had tried to put his hand up her dress.   
  
She had slapped it away, of course, knowing this was the good and proper thing to do, and he looked pleased at her reaction. Good brides, as well as wholesome women just didn't copulate on the morning of their wedding. But just for once, she wished she could throw freely all Victorian expectations and do something on a whim, a capricious, fleeting fancy that would flout all the people who knew her. Maybe then the Hermione Granger that everyone thought they knew would suddenly become more fascinating; maybe then Harry and Ron would not so egotistically believe that they knew her so well.   
  
She straightened the veil again, her breath making it stiflingly hot. She wished the bloody ceremony would start and she looked impatiently at her watch. Only seven minutes had elapsed since this morning fantasy, and it had done little to alleviate her tension or lengthen her patience. It would be hours before anyone arrived yet, and now that it was snowing, most likely longer.   
  
She would have suddenly given anything to be back in school, swimming in her unabashed fountain of knowledge and endless, interminable hours spent in the library. Her fingers itched for a good book,to feel the old, crackly parchment become so warm and pliable beneath her hands after a few minutes of use. Instead, she had to settle for the searingly bad and atrociously trashy contemporary WhichWitch fiction. She made a face, remembering the embarrasingly awful story of the girl, whom on her wedding day, had had a former arch enemy declare his undying love for her. She laughed, a genuine, tinkling laugh, at the thought of Draco Malfoy, or better yet, Snape trying to announce their unrequited affection.   
  
She held in her sides painfully as another burble of laughter escaped; the bones of the dress obviously weren't made for amused brides. She wiped a precariously dangling tear from her cheek, not wishing to spoil her makeup just yet.   
  
The veil began to make her woozy, the confines of the impermaeble material becoming too hot. She tore it off, afraid that edging it slowly off would ruin her hair, and also cause unconciousness. Breathe. That was better, the cold, stinging air like a welcome head rush. She wiped sweat from her forhead, and glanced worridely at the stains forming beneath her arms. Why did the stupid dress have to be so hot? She realised she could charm it and did so, quickly, before the spotless white would turn a telling shade of yellow.   
  
Her fingers inched towards her pack of Silk Cut, knowing, even as she did so, that Damien would have a fit, and that Lavender would surely slap her. Cigarettes were something she did more often as her wedding day approached, even though becoming a smoker was the farthest thing from her mind. The wedding and the accompanying stress were becoming quite a load, and besides, every normal person had their vices. She winced, suddenly, realising that she was not supposed to consider heself among normal people. She was supposed to be Hermione Granger, unsullied, unsmudged, flawless leader of Gryfindor. She also knew that Harry, Ron and Damien regarded cigarettes as a weak and muggle thing to do. Again she flinched, and found tears rising inexplicably in her throat.   
  
Muggle. For all her talents, triumphs and brilliance, it was still a dirty word. It was still the one thing that would never allow her to connect fully with anyone, not even her soon to be husband. She was still not pureblood, and that was a mistake to be borne for many generations. She reddened at the thought at the thought of the less than kosher names she had been subjected to in her youth and even now.   
  
She held the lighter in the palm of her hand, glancing nervously around, still not sure if she was being regarded by a very quiet spector. The smoke hit her lungs densely, and she coughed, sputtering, doubling over and cursing the dress for the amount of pain she was in. Still, it did help, and Hermione suddenly cared very little for what others thought of her. She knew fullly what a dull, boring life she was destined into leading once she said her I do's' to Damien, and this thought unnerved rather than soothed her. Her life, she supposed, would be largely spent rearing children, darning socks, and muttering encouraging comments to her husband, rather dull thing he was. She smiled affectionately, though not quite lovingly. She held him in high regard, no doubt, but she was quite sure that there were no academic victories that lingered in the bludger- beaten brain.   
  
A sudden hot seizure of pain grasped her as she realised what she was leaving behind. She gasped, and clutched her side, eyes open to the knowledge that she would never again be admitted to the vast libraries, able to brew illicit, yet life saving potions, practice insanely difficult charms, nor hold intelligent conversation with highly regarded professors.   
  
But this was what she wanted, she was sure. She blinked the tears back, her eyelid battering the oft' tear softened skin beneath her eyes. She wiped her nose rather rougishly and sat straight up again, not being able to stand the pain of the stays digging ridges into her breasts.   
  
She stubbed the cigarette out onto the bare table, ignoring the mark that was beginning to form beneath the hot sparks. She stood up quickly, and rather shakily, the boots that laced nearly to her knee restrained her with circulation halting stiffness. She robbed her thighs absently, noting the lack of feeling her fingers held.   
  
She put the veil onto her head, and set about watching the time pass by, even more slowly.This was more agonizing than watching Snape humiliate Neville. At least with Snape, everything was unpredictable, and there was no sophoriphic danger. The man kept you on your toes, she granted restlessly, hating to credit the evil professor that despised her solely on her friends and heritage.   
  
  
  
  
A/N: Hoped you like that one. Several more chappies to go. Please R&R. T 


	2. The Artificial Heart

  
There was a sound coming from the door, someone trying to open it. She glided over to it, and unlocked it. Harry stood there, grinning at her, and kissed her delightedly on the cheek. You look incredible, he whispered, slyly pinching her on the bum, she slapped his hand away, and laughed. His own appearance had matured, and it took her long enough to realise the pain of unrequited love. All was well now, and he himself had settled down with an American witch. I hate this dress, she grimaced, tugging at the hem of her skirt for emphasis. He rolled his eyes, As long it looks good. I've no idea about you women, you're always torturing yourselves for beauty. I deserve it. I went shopping with Ginny Weasley and Lavender, she answered truthfully. His eyes caught sight of the Silk Cut, as well as the half finished stub.   
  
Hermione, you didn't, he protested, grabbing the pack before she could reach them, it's such a disgusting habit. And, you're getting your dress ashy, look. He brushed off her skirt, and heels of her boots with great care and pride. She rolled her eyes at his fatherly concern, Harry, giving orders to me is superflous. He laughed, and suddenly gave her a very knaveish wink. He gestured for her to lean in, and she did so, wondering what in the hell he was concealing in his suit.   
  
A very fine bottle of Firewhiskey, it turned out. Her eyes widened, and before she could admonish him, she found herself liberally taking swigs from the bottle. The stuff went down about as easily as botuber puss, and she choked for a good five minutes before she could squeeze in another sip. He gave her an impressed stare.I never would have guessed, Mrs. Plath, he teased. She made a face, If there's one thing I regret, it's the name. Hermione Plath. Ugh. Could it become any more repulsive? I swear, I sound like a bloody spinster. He nearly spit out his own spit in mirth, You become merrier every time I see you, Granger. It's good to see you in excellent spirits. What, this?, she asked, tapping the bottle. He smiled, bemused by her.   
  
His friend certainly had grown, but there seemed something amiss. Before she had met Damien, smoking and drinking were about as appealing as hopping into the sack with Crabbe and Goyle. Damien, as likeable as he was, seemed so insufficient for her. At least he pictured Hermione marrying someone of equal or close intelligence, not a notoriously block-headed Quidditch player. But, she seemed happy, except for a dull ache in her eyes that seemed to intensify everytime she looked at him. He loathed to tell her that she was a friend,a sister at that, and the possibilities of a romantic continuation were nil, but he had to. It was eating at her, even Ron said so.   
  
So. Who d'you think is coming?, he asked, discreetly swiping the bottle from her. I haven't a clue. Dumbledore, Minerva. Sirius, Remus perhaps, Flitwick, Sprout even. You could knock me over with a feather if Snape decided to show, she mused, counting on her fingers. Harry gaped at her, You didn't invite Snape, did you? Oh, Hermione, what the hell were you thinking?.   
  
Obviously nothing, a voice drawled from behind them, a gaunt man wearing an extremely disdainful expression. Harry paled, and Hermione began to cough to disguise her laughter. Leave it to him to say the wrong things at the wrong time.   
  
I need a word with Mrs. Plath. Take your leave, Potter, or I'll forcibly extract you, he said calmly, but with a glint of malice behind his veiled intonations. Harry immediately rose, the lividity of his face slowly reddening. Decided to show, did you?, he spat, raising himself to his considerable height, and ruin the best day of her life? Just to see what you can never have?.   
  
In an instant, Snape's composure had vanished, and he had Harry pinioned against the wall, a feral violence wildly brewing in his ruthless eyes. I told you to leave. Do not misunderstand my orders, he said quietly, not even bothering to snarl. The look upon his face was enough. He let his grip slowly loosen, and Hermione watched, utterly fascinated, and oddly excited by this show of clashing mascunline egoes. Harry wiped off his neck more than was necessary, and his green eyes looked blood thirsty. He gave Hermione a curt nod, and quickly whisperd, If he tries anything, scream. I'll be at the door.   
  
I hardly think that's necessary, Potter. I highly doubt I would rape or kill a Quidditch player of considerable proportions two hours before the wedding, he replied, ever quick on his feet. Harry looked somewhat less confident, not knowing how to respond to Snape's perceptively damaging insults.  
  
After Harry had closed the door angrily behind him, Snape turned to her. She gazed at him with drunken surprise, as well as a sickening sense of longing. He had changed little, though he seemed far leaner than before. His aristocratic nose, thin lips and all encompassing eyes were a very sharp thorn in her side. His voice, she had just discovered, still had the power to hypnotise her, to do his bidding and to wound her more viciously than any other she had encountered. His jetty robes swirled impressively around him, and his hair still had a blue-black sheen. He looked suddenly, comparitively god-like to Damien, and she was ashamed to wish that it was he who would accompany her at the altar.   
  
She must have been staring, for nothing was said in the course at least two minutes. Something interesting, Mrs. Plath?, he asked, knowing how awful the name sounded, and especially so on his gifted tongue. She cringed, Stop calling me that. Call me anything else, but I hate the fucking name. A sharp curve at the corners of his mouth told her that he was smiling in a cruelly amused manner. Fine, Miss Granger. I have a simple question before I take my leave, why?, the tone of his voice suddenly became hushed, and just as the weather had suddenly darkened, so had his expression. His eyes became opaque, and nothing could be read of his body expression, except that he was mightily uncomfortable.   
  
Why what, you prat, she burbled, thanking God that at least she had the Firewhiskey to blame. He chose to ignore the name calling, This marriage, or rather, this sham of a marriage. I know perfectly well you are not happy. Any idiot with the most basal of perceptions could tell what a miserable wretch you are. She tried to make a face by pouting, but only found her mouth tugging that signalled tears were close. You're also quite inebriated. Something which is both unbecoming and very telling. Nothing good has come of a marriage in when either spouse was mentally compromised, he said sharply. She suddenly caught a whiff of the same stuff which he accused her of consuming.   
  
So're you, bloody hypocrite, she accused weakly. She noticed his gaze slip momentarily to the dress, as well as her face. He almost looked appreciative before he looked irritated, Hardly, Granger. I've had a few drinks, but unlike yourself, I've learned to hold my liquor. Like the dress?, she hiccuped, girlishly tugging on the material. He nodded, almost langorously, But I prefer you in robes.   
  
Her eyes shot open, and a giggle escaped before she could stop up her laughter. His annoyance increased, In the simple fact that an academic wardrobe suits you better. But corsets do wonders for your figure, he thought, and immediately chided himself. He couldn't shake the deadened, stupified look her face held, nor the painfully incoherent bubbling. He knew that she was slowly wasting away, and that her unhapiness was affecting her physcially. He had seen her a few times since her graduation, and was shocked the the news of her marriage and her choice. Actually, disgusted was a more appropriate word. She looked ravishing now, even if she was drunk, her face very skilfully made up and her delightful figure in the dress. But, nothing can disguise lachrymosia, and he was expert at detecting it. All he wanted to do now, and he found this disturbingly out of character, was to slap her into reality, dress her in her Head Girl robes, and kiss her roughly until the whole world was bathed in snow. He pulled a face. Such a stupidly romantic, maudlin train of thought. Honestly, he thought, I'm going soft.   
  
Again, I reiterate, why?, he asked again, his tone sharp enough to drive tacks into her skull. She flinched, and held her hands up unsteadily, as if he was going to strike her. She at him desolately, drunken haze seeming to have evaporated. Because I love him, her answer sounded mechanic, even to her own ears, and she covered them. Privately, she was glad he was here. He was the only one brutish, arrogant and stupid enough to tell her the truth she wanted to hear. He laughed, coldly, mercilessly, Don't be foolish, girl. I would hardly call this faltering relationship love. I wouldn't even qualify it as lust.   
  
She was completely sobered now, and she rose up in anger, ignoring that her veil had tumbled to the floor. How dare you come to my wedding and telll me what you think I feel. You couldn't tell a woman's heart if you could read it in a book, she knew she had slammed a nerve by the way his face contorted.   
Granted. As long as you don't assume to know my past either, his voice was so cold and so final, she found herself clutching his robe, even though he made no attempt to leave. Please don't go, she begged, humiliated by the fact her tears found the most inopportune times to well up. He looked mildly put off and stepped away from her like she was a puddling potion.   
  
I wasn't attempting to. In fact, I'd rather stay to watch this horrifyingly false ceremony, he replied. She put her hands over her face, and wiped the tears away brusquely. Wordlessly, he handed her a hankerchief. Black, of course. She glanced up thankfully, but saw him purposely looking elsewhere. Again, she was glad for his tactful evasion of her fragile emotions. This was the one time, she supposed, that he had held his tongue.   
  
Why, Granger? You haven't answered my question. If you're not going to, I'm wasting my time, and in fact, shall leave, he snapped, literally as soon as she had stopped crying. She gave him a watery glare, Because I love him. He's handsome, charming, thoughtful. Stupid, crass, lecherous, a skirt chaser and probably couldn't read a first year Potions lesson to save his bloody life, he finished impatiently. She had no argument, for his words held stinging truths behind each remark. He's faithful to me now, and I find it quite satisfying that I can use my talents to tutor another, she answered smoothly. He looked quite entertained, Tutor? To even bring him to a mere speck of your intelligence, he'd have to know how to use magic first.   
  
She shrugged, tiring of trying to hold ground with him. He was always right, and both of the knew it. Snape was a man of few words, but they were always the most targeted. Today was no exception. Why do you even care, anyway?, she asked wearily, resting her chin upon an open palm. He looked at her with guarded admiration,Because you shouldn't waste yourself on him. His voice suddenly become a growl, and he avoided her damnably acute stare.   
  
Truth be told, Severus Snape had a long standing affection for the woman who sat in front of him. He had persistently decieved himself into believing it was only circumstantial esteem, that she was worthy of respect if she could solve his Flamel puzzle in minutes, as well as survive two of the most dullwitted boys he could think of. But to marry herself off to someone stupider than Viktor Krum brought her reputation down a few notches. There were more than several raised eyebrows, and it was he who had come to defend her dignity when no one else would.   
  
Hermione's head was reeling. If nothing else was dependable in this world, at least Snape's tireless hatred of her was. And, to top it off, he was beginning to sound concerned, though awfully indifferent expression and biting tone would have told otherwise. So leave, if you're so unhappy, she shrugged, leaning towards the wastebasket to pick up her cigarettes. He gave her a positively poisonous glare, Trying to hasten our demise, are we?. She rolled her eyes and flicked her ash dangerously close to his groin. He looked affronted, then amused.   
  
Are you going to stand up and ruin my wedding?, she asked, her reddish eyes thoughtfully observing his guarded face. He laughed, Good gods no, just trying to bring you back to your sensibilities. Believe you me, Granger, only out of the most childish inclinations of my heart did I come to gloat. Do not mistake this as a kind of waxing love. She gave him a small smile, but he instantly saw he had wounded her, and felt infintely hypocritical.   
  
She threw the stub onto the floor, and instinctively he ground it out. She gave him a questioning glance, and he shrugged, . She nodded assentively, and suddenly reached behind her head, and removed the mess of pins holding it all together. Her smooth mane fell almost to her back, and she was pleased with its straightness. But, considering her idea of marriage was becoming rapidly unravelled, she decided her uncomfortable hairstyle might as well also. She missed his hungry glance as she whipped extraneous strands from her eyes. Come to think of it, he thought dryly, there seemed a lot that Hermione Granger missed.   
Severus thought little of the pain he would suffer at her hands if she would go through with this stupid sham of a wedding.   
  
And knowing her Gryfindor stubborness and refusal of admitting error, she probably would.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Thanks for the reviews, I'm happy I got so quick a response. I know I jumped into the scenes, I tend to do that with my writing. I'm impatient and hate having to wait for an anti climatic ending. Anyway, there's more about Damian in here, and will certainly be more in the future. Also, with the smoking and drinking, I'm simply trying to convey more of Hermione's muggle side, rather than her witchy one.   
  



	3. Two Noble Kinsmen

  
There was a sudden thudding at the door, which sounded like Damien Plath was trying to bludger down the whole thing using only his head. Snape started up, a familiar predatory spark in his eyes, but Hermione put her hand on his shoulder.   
  
, she said, though not quite as strongly as he might have expected, I'll get it. It would upset him to know you're in here. He gave her an unconvincing bow, and ushered her to the door.   
  
She opened the door, and her fiancé charged into her, nearly flattening her against the wall. She smiled in good natured toleration, but Snape saw that the patience that she possessed only a few hours before was gone. Jus' checkin', love. You look absolutely fabulous in that dress, he said, pawing eagerly a virginal 15 year old might. Snape rolled his eyes in disgust.   
  
Hermione was mortified at being practically molested in front of her former teacher. Her pride, though somewhat diminished, was still a particularly volatile aspect to her personality, and she wished to at least keep some of it in front of Snape. She wondered idly why his opinion had become so important all of a sudden. Lord knows that she had rarely thought of him before, but suddenly, after seeing him again, she felt the odd tightness in her chest, that spread slowly down past her belly. If she was lusting after her former professor, well, then Damien was surely not sufficient enough.   
  
Damien, stop, she snapped, in a no-nonsense voice. He immediately looked up at her, apology so earnest in his eyes, she felt ashamed. Then, she felt sickened. The way he looked at her made her feel the way that young boys look at their mothers, expectant, wanting to be spoilt, demanding, attention whores. She closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples absently as both men watched her for a response. Dame, go, I'll be out in twenty minutes. I've got to finish putting my makeup on, she said quietly, barely concealing disgust and impatience as she kissed his cheek.   
  
Snape regarded her thoughtfully, through his sleepy eyes. Hermione Granger was finally gaining some ground, in fact, the expression in her eyes as she kissed her husband looked remarkably like hatred. She glanced up at him, and something so darkly seductive replaced it, that his breath literally became caught in his chest. He raised an eyebrow at her, but he was struggling to regain countenance. Damien nodded, happy as an idiotic clam, and trotted away.   
  
Hermione stared after him, knowing that if she abandoned all pretenses of getting married, it would be the last stable attempt at a life she would never see again. Snape was the least stable, not to mention one of the most unpleasant men she could imagine herself entangled with. She yawned, suddenly extremely tired.   
  
I still don't understand why you care, she began again, turning lazily back to him, rationalizing that if the wedding weren't to happen anyway, there was no need to hurry. He smirked at her, Playing persistent, are we? all right then, Miss Granger, I shall answer your question.....when you answer mine. She nodded, not thinking that because this was Snape, after all, things would never be quite as they seemed.   
  
How did you meet your....significant other? And on what pretense are you marrying him under?, his voice even more velvet, the folds and subte hints as dark as ever. She closed her eyes and shivered, suddenly cold beneath his tone. To hear a voice as singularly melodious as his, just listening to it all day, that would be paradise. Her eyes flew open again, and she stared at him crossly, trying to force him to become repulsive to her. It of course made him more alluring.   
  
We met at one of Harry's games, he was playing for the Griffin Grounders. I think he was beater or someone like that, something with a bat, anyway, he was handsome and charming, and extremely friendly. He didn't strike me as the athletic type, all their bristly maleness, so I didn't question his intelligence. His aversion to books and all things academic didn't really deter me. After all, Ron and Harry are about as indisposed to all things bookish as you could think of, so I was used to being the odd man out. Funny how Dame never made me feel like that, the way Ron and Harry always did, she said, finishing self consciously, suddenly aware of his almost placid gaze. His eyes raked, almost appreciatively, over her dress again. She crossed her arms over her breasts. He stopped.   
  
So, anyway, I fell in love with him, even though he had a bed hopping period. I figured sports figures were inclined to sleep around, all those lusty wenches (this provoked an affirmative growl from her interrogator, which she chose to overlook). He proposed, a year after we had been dating, and I said yes. Why shouldn't I? I was happy, and I didn't really think of what it would mean if I married him, and up until you showed up, Snape, I doubt I would ever have, she finished, almost resentfully, her angry brown eyes boring holes into his suddenly averted stare.   
  
She suddenly kicked up her skirt in a tornado of velvet and silk, creating a lovely ruffling sound, and stuck her boot out. He looked wryly up at her, wondering if it was an invitation or a warning. She rolled her eyes, reading his thoughts.   
  
I'm not a lusty wench, you lecher. Anyway, I need help unlacing the bloody things. I've been trying to all afternoon, it feels like my toes've been frozen off, she said snappishly. She knew what a suggestive offer she was making, and was all too aware of his heightened discomfort, as well as a certain arousal. She was gauging him, testing the Snape infested waters to see if all was safe between them. He shook his head at length, glancing longingly at the expense of white thigh and shapely calf that disappeared as quickly as it had been revealed. She smiled indifferently, though inwardly she burned with shame. What had she been thinking, kicking up her skirt like that? Proper women just didn't do it, especially to old professors.   
  
Oh, fuck proper women, she snapped out loud, and looked almost startled enough to fall off the chair. Snape looked equally surprised, Language, Granger. She gave him a glare capable of impaling a wand through dragon hide, Oh, shuttup Snape. I'm not in a bloody classroom anymore. I've become aware that in less than twenty minutes, I have to go out in front of friends, professors, and family, and make the announcement that I've decided to remain celibate after all. Perhaps I should just get married and save everyone the trouble.   
  
This illicited such an angry sound from him, that it sounded feral. A cold chill ran through her, dragging across her spine; he was as unpredictable as ever, and even more dangerous. His eyes grew smokey, and he became jaded again.   
  
Don't ever do that. Why waste what you know you have?, he asked, sounding irately self assured, You're already living a falsity, I can't understand why you would deem it worthy to continue, besides, none of them deserve you.   
  
, she asked, despite herself. She immediately flushed when she realized he wasn't finished. He was beginning to sound dreamy, almost.   
  
Those cretins you call friends, he replied angrily. She gave him an appreciative look, So you've noticed?. And not just now. In school, you were always there for them, and they never returned the favour. I can't blame you for pursuing a happy, normal life, Granger, but believe you me, with your talent comes immense complications, he droned, sounding as if he were teaching another inanely simple first year potion.   
  
All right, Professor Snape, Hermione interrupted his reverie, frantic for time, as well as an honest reply, I've woven my tale, now you have to tell me the truth. Why do you care so much? Wouldn't it have been so much more amusing had my mockery at marriage failed so miserably? It would have been quite the victory for you, knowing all along it couldn't have possibly worked out.   
  
He gave her an exasperated stare chilly enough to freeze her eyelashes. I admit that it would have been quite amusing had your marriage actually been consummated. But, seeing the student and woman you are,the fact would have eaten me alive. That's why I came, to tell you the truth you already knew, as well as to rid myself of my own guilt, he said lamely.   
  
Hermione knew in an instant that what he had said was a blatant lie, and she was furious and shamefully flattered. She put her hands on her hips, her chest and jaw out defiantly. She raised an eyebrow at him, and threw him one of her famous glares. He looked taken aback, but still cold.   
  
I don't believe you, Snape, she said bluntly. He shrugged, As you wish, Granger. She laughed, loudly, falsely, and with such bitterness, it startled them both. There's a simple trick to prove me wrong, she said enticingly, knowing that he would fall for it. He cocked his head, studying her with much fascination; you had to give Hermione Granger credit for being so obdurate.   
  
Fine, fine. I'll play your silly game. What is this trick? Pulling a rabbit out of a hat?, he glowered, lowering himself back into his chair.   
  
Kiss me, she said simply, her arms crossed in front of her chest again. He almost choked, Come again, Granger?.   
  
She shrugged, If this was entirely self motivated, then why shouldn't you kiss me? After all, it would only sweeten the deal.   
  
His eyes narrowed. You chit, he said menacingly, advancing upon her, this is no game, there is no deal. I've come to do you a favor, at Dumbledore's great bidding, mind you.   
  
She was acutely aware of how close his proximity was, of how he seemed to effuse thyme, rosemary and lavender when he was angry, and how when their gazes met, it smelled almost electrical. She was breathless, and he was breathing heavily enough for both of them. It took one tiny, infinitesimally small upturn of her chin at him, her eyes glowing and his own glittering in a foreign emotion, for the two to come together.   
  
It was, by any standard, a kiss to end all kisses.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Heehee. Fluffy and stupid, but oh so satisfying. Anyway, story's not over yet folks, so keep the reviews rollin! 


	4. That's Where It Is

Suddenly, Hermione Granger felt a belonging. Like she was right, the perfect way her hips fit between his hands, and where her breasts rose sharply to meet his chest, and especially the way her lips felt between his. She felt as if everything she had never understood about the world had suddenly become de-crypted, translated, reborne. That each second he spent kissing her was one less minute she would have to spend finding enlightenment, one less moment chasing happiness. That this was where she was supposed to go all along, but had been too stupid, too arrogant, too blind to seek it.   
  
Moments were stretched between them, and time stopped. His eyes remained open, as did hers, and they studied each other with equal wariness and fascination. It was she who pulled away.   
  
She retreated cautiously, smiling nervously, and not knowing whether her legs would carry her to where she wanted to go. They didn't; instead, they crumpled, and she curled instinctively towards the ground, still trapped in his stare. He didn't move an inch to help her, he only watched, an aloof spectator that had only then realised that he was part of a larger equation.   
  
Go away, she said and flinched at the sound of her own voice. She had never changed, not from the moment she had stepped into Hogwarts to the moment when she was released into the world on her own. The bossy, demanding tone still remained, as did stupid childish crushes, grudges and fears. Her face collapsed, and she looked like a punctured ghost, the white dress so carelessly strewn and her own pallor was ashen.   
  
He shrugged so indifferently, that she stared for several seconds without a word. That's it?, she asked, incredulous; she had been expecting somewhat of a protest. You requested my presence and you request my departure. What more do you wish?, he replied sharply. Hermione honestly had no answer, and for once her endless books and knowledge could not aid her. I don't know, she faltered, staring at his boots. Her tear stricken face stared in an abhorrently honest reflection. She turned her head.   
  
I will go, Granger, but at least know what you're leaving behind, he said, pridefully noting that his panic did not surface in his voice. I'm not marrying him, she said exasperated, but I still don't know what I want.   
  
He rolled his eyes, None of us do, stupid girl. I shouldn't expect it from you anyway. Tell me what you want me to do. Hermione eye's narrowed a trifle, as she studied her sudden infatuation. He was so sinisterly magnetic, so darkly charismatic, and so incredibly, dangerously brilliant. She raised herself up, cursing as her boots bit into her legs. She was now nose level to him, and though it displeased her that she couldn't level her gaze, she was glad at least she could stand some ground.   
  
I want you to stay, she said firmly, in a tone she knew he couldn't refuse. What, to watch you make a tactful fool of yourself?, he asked, slightly amused, I doubt even I would wish to see that.   
  
No, you arse, she snapped, and saw his eyes flicker, stay here with me.   
  
But I am here with you, he protested, wishing his heart would stop jumping around like an overstimulated hippogriff. He was preventing himself from leaping to conclusions, knowing that the woman would never request a relationship, even if after a kiss like that.   
  
She gave a murmurof annoyance, Stay with me. Here. After this stupid wedding, and maybe we can further our personal discoveries, she said in one breath. For once, Severus Snape was completely, utterly, awesomely, overwhelmingly speechless. He stuttered, and stammered, and made inaudbile sounds, but none could even cover one bit of the spectrum of feelings he was experiencing. Some of them were new, most of them weren't.   
  
Hermione looked almost embarassed, as though his gulping and strange utterances were part of an elaborate display of rejection. She looked stupendously disappointed and felt, if possible, even more humiliated.   
  
Then I suppose you should go. After all, this thing was a waste of your time, she spat, giving him one of her stares reserved for times of great hatred. She swallowed hard, feeling the burn of tears and longing in her throat. All she wanted to do right now, was hug his shoes and have him drag her to the ends of the earth. She would become obesiescant to him, follow his every command, every whim. It was entirely an unsettling and unusual feeling. Hermione Granger was not one to be domesticated.  
  
He gave a withering glance at her, and she felt self concious in her ruined make up and dishevelled clothes. She took a deep breath, and set about the task of trying to gracefully retrieve her dignity.   
  
Do you actually believe, Granger, that I would leave after a kiss like that?. His tone was sharp and for a second, she thought herself to be back in his dungeons, under the spell of his outrageously erotic voice. But she wasn't fourteen anymore, she was fully grown, fully in control. And unfortunately, fully head over heels in love.   
  
  
I don't know, Professor. You're a very unpredictable man, she breathed, trying to match his stare. His lips turned up in a smile, but so briefly, she thought it to be a trick of the light.   
  
Is there a way to remedy this predicament?, he asked coyly, approaching her a lion might its prey. She couldn't stop from inching towards him, her legs and feet grudgingly moving to his magnetic core.   
  
They say, Professor, the only way to tell is in a kiss, she whispered, and suddenly, his mouth was upon hers again, and his hands were everywhere at once. She gave a groan of pleasure, unwittingly rubbing herself against him. The corset, she noted, didn't hinder his explorations. His hips were narrow, his torso muscular but wiry. She could feel the vertabrae in his back. She didn't mind though, for she had always found Damien too bulky for her liking.   
  
He had just found the laces, and was running his finger langorously over her creamy back, when both Harry, Ron and Dumbledore decided to express their best wishes by bursting in upon them.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Sorry for the cliffie and for not updating regularly. Still kind of a WIP, so do forgive. Anyway, this story is proving to be far more interesting than I thought.   



	5. Expelliarmus

  
It was amusing, yet mortifying to Hermione, the range of emotions that spanned each face about her. Dumbledore looked surprised, his oddly opaque blue eyes appeared relieved. Harry and Ron had equal looks of disgust and fury at Snape, though Harry less so. She lowered her gaze, hoping that Snape could not see the burn that spread across her cheeks.   
  
What the fu..., Ron began, elbowing his way in front of Harry, forcing Hermione's eyes to snap to his. She winced as she felt the very palpable repugnance in his eyes. Harry laid a gentle hand to restrain him, but Hermione noticed that he didn't grip too tightly. She took a deep breath, and felt Snape stiffen beside her. Obviously, he was as uncomfortable as she beneath their endless needling.   
  
I think we have obviously underestimated Miss Granger, Dumbledore's quiet, but effectively gentle voice soothed them all. Harry and Ron turned to stare, and Snape let out a silent sigh.   
  
What?Because she's willing to screw a man who probably hasn't been touched since the Ice Age?, Ron's vocal resent, unwilling to be smothered, resurfaced in a very ugly manner. Snape gave him a withering look.   
  
Mr. Weasley, I shall not comment upon the endless rumors I have heard whispered about your wand size' in my Slytherin common rooms, his voice was threateningly smooth, silky as the black, bottomless ocean. Ron's blood supply seemed to rise to his face, and he retreated.   
  
Verbal assaults and aggravated rumors are not helpful, Dumbledore intoned, I believe this is up to Miss Granger whether or not she is comfortable with the rest of us accessing her personal...turmoils.   
  
But...Hermione's like...like....our sister!, Ron began lamely, trying to buoy his sinking ship. Snape punctured it with a quick, precise stab.   
  
Is this resent at me for all those constructively criticising comments uttered by myself or inability on your part to win Miss Granger's affections?, he snarled icily, and Hermione shivered, feeling sickly excited by the dark power he exuded when provoked.   
  
'Mione, I thought you were happy. I thought you would tell me if you were ever unhappy, Harry's voice entered the chorus as well. Hermione honestly could not believe her ears, her eyes or her heart. Perhaps the Greek philosopher was right: you can never trust your senses.   
  
Good gods Harry, she blazed, turning to him with such force, her dress tangled itself around her legs, looking like unfurled bedsheets, you think this is about you? You're not my only best friend, and I have certainly not divulged as much as you'd like to think. Why should it matter what I choose to do? I've never commented upon your less...reputable conquests, so don't you dare say anything about mine. Harry looked affronted, and for a minute she almost felt sorry for him, until she could feel the hot, fiery glare that Snape was boring into her.   
  
But Damien's the national quidditch champion!, Ron roared, tugging his hair, are you insane, Hermione? He's like an athletic genius. Snape let out an indignant growl, but Hermione had leapt upon him first.   
  
, she asked, doing her own finely tune impersonation of Snape at his deadliest, Quidditch: a game where one nearly gets one's head beaten off by enchanted balls and spends a large part trying to chase a stupid yellow christmas tree ornament. What a strong bond that relationship will forge, you fool.   
  
Suddenly, Hermione couldn't stand it anymore. She was sick of males, sick of her friends, and overwhelmingly tired. All she wanted to do was to sit with Dumbledore and talk at length with a cavernous bowl of lemon drops between them. She put her hands to her face and screwed her eyes tight. They had started to argue again.   
  
, was all it took, just leave. The note of desperation in her voice, as well as the fact that she was quivering, quickly ushered them out. Dumbledore rose to leave, but she placed a hand upon his shoulder. Not you, she whispered through clenched teeth, and he nodded.   
  
Each male stood oddly distanced from each other, and bristled when the hems of Snape's robes came too close. Hermione gave Dumbledore a half grin, and a half imploring look. He patted her hand.   
  
My dear, my dear. Personally, though I would have never predicted such an unexpected coupling as this, I am so grateful that Severus has certainly proved his worth to you, Dumbledore said gently. She nodded, rubbing her temples.   
  
So...you're not upset, angry, disgusted? Because it seems, judging from the boy's reactions, that this is what my lifetime is destined for, she sighed. He gave an appreciative chuckle.  
  
You must learn to disregard other's thoughts. I had always thought you admirable for doing so as a child, he chided. She nodded pensively, and turned to him again.   
  
Why aren't you disapproving of this? After all, this is almost adultery and Snape's....decades older than I am. Even if I were the spectator, I would be rather put off, she asked. The older wizard gave her an amused look.   
  
Oh, Hermione, because I have witnessed far more seemingly irrational relationships that made both spouses incredibly happy, he replied simply. She gave him a half smile, not daring believe that he wasn't a little bit skeptical.   
  
She took a deep breath, Professor, what did everyone truly say when they heard I was to wed Damien Plath?. Dumbledore sighed and placed his warm, featherlight hands upon her own.   
  
They had thought you mad, my girl. Viktor Krum seemed only to be a hormonal lapse, but Damien Plath appeared another pearl in a string of foolish deeds. I was worried, Hermione, that you would never find happiness and that you were searching in so obviously the wrong place, he finished. His blue eyes were searing through her own.   
  
Did you send Snape to tell me this?, she asked, afraid that it really had been a bribed good deed. Dumbledore gave her a curious look, and smiled slyly.   
  
Why, no child. I had no intention of interferring in this. You had always seemed to find your way when you were younger. When Severus mentioned a holiday and when I had seen him clutching your invitation with a look of contempt, longing and disgust, why, it had taken little to convince me of his feelings, he said gently. Hermione gave a laugh, one of surprise and delight.   
  
Headmaster (she still preferred the stiffly formal title), now because you seem to know everything, what shall I do now?, she said despondently, realizing her situation again.   
  
As maudlin as this may sound, Hermione,I do find it appropriate. Continue in the direction which your heart wishes, he replied.   
  
  
Hermione sighed. It was going to be one bloody hell of a morning.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Sorry if they're OOC, but I'm trying to figure out a friggin way to resolve all this. Anyways, thanks for all the great reviews I am recieving. Try to update more quickly. Hard to meet demand. And supply. I'm taking an economics course, which is slowly infiltrating my writing. 


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